


no matter what you say, I won't love you less.

by evelinafelicia



Series: I thank the oceans for giving me you [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, But nevertheless, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this months ago but FFH made me want to post it, Near Future, Panic Attacks, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, broody superheroes, just lots of talking, just minor FFH spoilers, my damaged son, sorry - Freeform, zero action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 21:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelinafelicia/pseuds/evelinafelicia
Summary: Fighting trauma by staying quiet and wishing it away is the Peter Parker way, and it has been since he put that suit on. But it's about to cost him his relationship. Is Peter willing to open up or does he have to let MJ go?





	no matter what you say, I won't love you less.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello. Dipping my toe into this fandom. I need to get away from writing screenplays and Far From Home made me revisit this lil ficlet I had hidden away in my computer. I love my babies and I love argument scenes so, I decided to post it. 
> 
> Title (and inspiration for fic) is borrowed from Like to be you by Shawn Mendes & Julia Michaels. 
> 
> Warning! Spoilers! For Endgame and Far From Home. Also, I don't own any of these characters but boy do I love them.

Peter is tired. He can’t remember how it feels to not be tired. Exhaustion planted itself within him a long time ago, making itself feel right at home. He can handle it sometimes. Most of the time. But then, out of the blue, like a punch to the gut, he can’t, and he folds in on himself completely. His focus shifts.

When this happens, he spends hours flinging himself off rooftops, just to clear his mind. It’s not like he goes out with the intention to fight anyone, and yet, that's exactly what he does. Eventually, it’s the only thing he can do. Flinging, swinging and fighting until his arms and legs can no longer carry him. He shows up at the end of the night with cuts and wounds and Aunt May and Happy hate it so much they end up calling Pepper more than a couple of times. And Pepper? Pepper _hates_ it.

“Take it from me,” she tells Peter after a particularly bad night, “I spent enough time with Tony to know you don’t want to go out there when you’re in this kind of headspace.”

“Yes, I do,” Peter says, “it’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

Being at home, being around his friends and family, is something he can barely deal with anymore. He closes his eyes at night and all he sees is their empty gazes, the disappointment. When he’s awake, all he sees is their worry. And when things are bad, he has a hard time telling them apart.

Peter is tired, devastatingly so. A new day is about to begin, the sun getting ready to rise and Peter's anxiety levels with it. Breathing is getting harder and he can’t quite focus on where he’s going or what he’s doing. The wound in his shoulder aches with every swing.

He doesn’t notice it when he switches direction, not until ten minutes later when he lands with a heavy thud on her fire escape. He’s still in his suit and he barely looks around before he takes off the mask, hoping it’ll make it easier to breathe. It doesn’t. Sitting down to rest he glances at the window, noticing it’s open. Despite his worry and general state of mind, the sight warms his heart and breaks it all at the same time. Because, normally, he would change out of his suit and crawl through to join her in bed.

But not this time.

This time he sits down next to the window. To catch his breath, he tells himself. He’ll only stay for a minute or two, to catch his breath. The wound in his shoulder throbs and he curses himself for going into the field like this. The swinging and flinging are irresponsible enough but halfway through the night he is spoiling for a fight and now here he is. Peter starts feeling dizzy, so he keeps his eyes shut. The thought of how close it got tonight, about how he’s losing control of it all, how he’s putting everyone else in danger by acting this way, how he’s stupid enough to show up here, in his suit, without his mask, does nothing to stop the panic that’s taking hold of him. Hoping to keep it from kicking into high gear, Peter tries to focus on her, on the other side of the wall. He can hear her breathing, her tossing and turning in bed. It eases his mind, knowing she’s there, and it starts to loosen the knot in his chest.

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing. But long enough for her to notice.

"Peter?"

He hums softly. He doesn’t want to scare her. Michelle walks over to the window before opening it completely.

“You’re still in your suit.”

He hums again. Her voice is soft, calm. The opposite of how he felt.

“Come inside, won't you?"

Peter turns to look at her. Her hair is in a ponytail, a few strands out of place. She’s wearing an old decathlon t-shirt and a pair of his washed-out pajama pants. He smiles slightly, despite the state he’s in.

"I wasn’t sure if... you know. What you wanted." He shrugs and immediately hisses in pain.

MJ frowns. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"The hell you are. Come inside.”

Peter does as he’s told. MJ leads him to her vanity, pushes him down on the chair and pulls out a first aid kit.

"Just leave it, it'll heal."

"If you think I'm letting you in the bed all bloody you really don't know me at all."

Peter pauses, his suit halfway off. He stares at her, but she won’t meet his eyes. Instead, she pulls the rest of his suit down, exposing his chest. They sit in silence for a long time, MJ focusing on his wound and Peter focusing on her. She knows what she’s doing, she’s done it a few times.

Too many times, he thinks to himself, and the thought makes the pressure in his chest worse. Peter takes a deep breath. He just wants it to stop.

"You're gonna let me on the bed?" He mutters. She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows.

“You’re an idiot. I left the window open, didn’t I?”

“Well, I—I don’t know, I just thought....”

MJ doesn’t reply, just kept cleaning the wound. She lifts her free hand and places it on his chest, over his heart. As if she knows. The tension between them kills him and takes away from the comfort he usually gets being close to her like this. He scoots closer to her, hoping it’ll help. Peter keeps his eyes on her as she finishes.

“Hey,” he says, softly and she looks up. She looks tired. Her beautiful brown eyes that Peter believes holds the answers to all his questions. She’s the smartest person in the room, every room, always and her eyes reflect that, or at least Peter thinks so. She sees right through you, every time. Tonight, they just look tired. Tired and sad and Peter kicks himself for any part he takes in dimming that light.

She puts her hand on his cheek and traces it back through his hair. He hums and leans into her touch. These bursts of affection aren’t common with her. He knows she loves him, she has told him as much. But she’ll showcase her love in other ways, usually, and he doesn’t mind that. Not at all. But this is nice, still.

“I love you,” he whispers and something unidentifiable flashes through her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” MJ says as she pulls away suddenly leaving Peter feeling cold, “I don’t— _Peter_.”

Her voice cracks.

“I know.”

“You keep doing this.”

“ _I know_.”

She waits, patiently, for him to make the next move. 

“Can… can’t we just go to bed?” He says, knowing it is the wrong move to make. The disappointment is clear as MJ laughs, a harsh and angry laugh. It makes Peter feel like a little kid.

“It’s been weeks—we haven’t had a real conversation in weeks. Don’t you think I’m tired too?”

“Michelle, please.”

“What? What is it, Peter? Can’t we try and have a conversation?”

“I just wish you would try and understand!”

“I don’t understand though! I want to help; I want to be there for you but you won’t let me!”

“You could get hurt. You did, just a few weeks ago. Because of me.”

“Oh, here we go!” She raises her voice and stands up, “You do this every single time! It’s not about you or because of you. I decided it was the right thing to do at the moment. You would never leave me, or anyone else, there to DIE—”

“That’s different!”

“How is it different?”

“I do this all the time! You’re just—”

“I’m just what? A civilian? Your _girlfriend_?”

“Yes, I mean, no! Not just! You’re not an Avenger, is what I meant.”

“Being an Avenger doesn’t make you immortal.”

“No, but I have superpowers! It means I have a responsibility--”

“Oh, big deal. You needed help and you know damn well that I wasn’t gonna—”

“IT IS A BIG DEAL, YOU COULD GET HURT, I KNOW HOW TO HANDLE MYSELF—”

“SO DO I, JUST BECAUSE I DON’T WEAR SPANDEX DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T—”

“IT’S NOT SPANDEX!”

“THAT'S NOT THE POINT, I…”

She trails off, sighing.

“We’re slipping, Peter. We can’t keep this up.”

She is right, Peter knows as much. If anything can break them, it’s this. This fight.

They sit in silence. Good, he thinks to himself. Because he feels like this is the end, the end of them and it kills him to think about it so the longer they sit in silence the better. He’s pulling the suit back up, getting ready to leave and for her to close the window once and for all when she speaks again.

“You don't have a monopoly on worrying, you know.”

“I get that.”

“Do you?”

She gestures to the bullet wound.

“Every night Peter, every time you go off to save the city.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know. It’s not just me. It's May. And Ned. And Pepper and Morgan and Happy and— You have literally died before. It's happened. It could still happen, _again_.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at his hands. She crosses the room and grabs them, forcing him to look up and meet her gaze. Resilient and wild and determined. Desperate for him to understand.

“You cut me off. Do you realize how fucking hurtful that is?”

He nods.

“I thought it’d get better, that’d you’d be back. We all did. But you pushed me, us, further and further away, when we were trying to help. Help you be better, help you _survive_.”

“That’s not your responsibility, MJ. I don’t want it to be your responsibility.”

“Tough luck. You’re not the boss of me.”

Under any other circumstances, she would say it with a smirk on her face and it would make him smile. 

“Spider-Man and all that comes with is my burden to bear. Not yours or anyone else’s.”

MJ scoffs.

“This brooding superhero act you’ve got going on is getting real tired, Parker.”

“I’m not _brooding_ , I’m just trying to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

“ _So stop_. Stop being Spider-Man. Because as long as you keep going at it, someone’s gonna end up hurt,” she spat, “ it hurts me. Do you think I enjoy leaving the window open? Hoping, praying, you’re gonna come back in one piece? Cleaning your wounds, setting your dislocated joints? Pretending I can’t hear you scream in your sleep? Leave you be whenever you’re having a panic attack because God forbid you accept help? It’s tearing you apart. It’s tearing us apart.”

She starts crying and he isn’t sure how to deal with it. MJ doesn’t cry, that’s just how things are. She yells and he yells until maybe he cries or they both feel like collapsing from pure exhaustion and they let it go until the next fight. But she never cries, not like this.

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s always so preoccupied, always so distracted but she’s there, always. Meanwhile, there are periods during which Peter is barely present, so caught up in his own shit.

“It’s not enough for me to patch you up, wave you off and wait around as you save the world. I’m not that person. I want this to work but I’m not that person _._ ”

“MJ, I’m so sorry, please don’t cry,” he pleads. He wants to touch her, hug her. Hold her and never let go. Fuck, he is such an idiot.

“Stop telling me what to do!”

“Right, absolutely, I mean, you can cry, you can do whatever you want, just tell me, please, what I can do to make it better.”

“Let’s just go to bed,” she whispers.

She sounds small and, again, tired, which is all he needs to reach out. They join hands, lock eyes and Peter silently asks permission before he pulls her in for a hug when she gives it. Peter doesn’t want to go to bed, he doesn’t want to just leave it like this. That will make it feel final, like they’re finally caving, letting it break.

“Are you sure?”

MJ doesn’t reply, just circles her arms around his waist and pulls him close. He buries his face in her hair.

“Okay. Bed. Whatever you want.”

Peter completely removes his suit and MJ strips down to just her t-shirt and panties. They lay down next to each other on the bed, not touching and MJ with her back to Peter. He reaches out hesitantly and traces his fingers up and down her spine, hoping it’ll get the tension to leave her shoulders. Eventually, she relaxes. He is overcome with emotions of guilt and sadness. He needs her to know.

“I never want you to feel like you're not the most important person in my life because you are, MJ. You _are,”_ he whispers.

“Okay.”

“No, seriously. Second to none.”

“ _Okay_.”

She scoots closer to him. Just barely, but closer nevertheless. They lay comfortably in silence for a while. MJ is the one to eventually break it.

“All you have to do is talk to me,” she whispers, “that’s what you can do to make it better”

He doesn’t have a response to that.

He knows he can talk to her; she’s the best listener Peter has ever met. It is her forte. Listening, watching, reading the room. He used to talk to her long before they were dating, before he knew she knew about Spider-Man. And it’s not like he doesn't trust her, he does. With his life. 

But this is different.

He doesn’t, he can’t, talk to her or anyone about this overwhelming pressure in his chest. About the sleepless nights haunted by dreams of buildings collapsing, memories of an endless place of nothing, of homicidal villains with vendettas and grand plans. How he worries, constantly, about everything and everyone, because death just seems to follow him wherever he goes. How, no matter if he's asleep or awake, he keeps losing them or letting them down, over and over.

She won’t understand when he tells her about the shadows of his past chasing him across New York and how he spends every day running only to be caught and defeated the second he lets his guard down. He can’t talk about it. Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Don’t go down that rabbit hole, he tells himself, not now, not here, not with her. He can’t.

Except he should.

He turns to lay on his back, takes another breath and decides it’s now or never. There's so much she doesn't know, so much he doesn't want to say but should. He goes through them, mentally flipping through them like an index of all his past traumas and settles on the big one. Suddenly, he's down the rabbit hole and the pressure overtakes him.

“I still feel it, you know? The… disintegrating. Whatever you want to call it.”

MJ makes no indication that she’s awake and listening. It’s easier that way. He doesn’t have to look at her, but at least she’ll know.

“It’s weird, cause no one else does. You don’t. Ned doesn’t. Shuri has a theory it might have been my cells regenerating, the healing, you know? Working in overdrive, or something. I guess that makes sense. All I know is that I somehow saw it coming so I fought tooth and nail, hoping I could stop it. Maybe that’s why it hurt.”

His voice shakes and he tries not to hate it.

"It hurt?" 

So, she’s awake.

"Like you wouldn't believe. And then, I come back. And he hugs me, and we fight side by side, all of us and it’s amazing and scary and then… he dies. He just... dies. To save the world, to save Pepper and Morgan …”

“You,” she whispers.

“Yeah. Then Europe happened and…” 

He turns to look at her.

“It never stops, you know?”

“I know.”

“And somewhere along the road I just… thought that if I ignore it, push through, then maybe I would eventually be fine but…”

“But it doesn’t work like that.”

He's just rambling now, really. So much he's kept to himself, hoping, praying it'll stay locked away. Now that he's started, he can't seem to stop. 

“I know you think this is bullshit but I can't shake the feeling that everyone around me keeps dying. I open up and I put my trust in them and they— I’ve seen you die. So many times. Mysterio did his… thing. The illusion, I didn’t know what is real and you just, fell and I couldn’t stop it. So now, you die in my dreams, all the time, M.J. Same with May and Happy and Morgan and Pepper and Ned and Carol and everyone. It’s crippling.”

Her hand reaches out and brushes his cheek, wiping a tear in the process. 

“And then a few weeks ago, it… it almost happened, M.J. I was so scared. And it’s fucked everything up. I can’t seem to shake it," Peter says as he no longer can keep the sobs from escaping his lips. Michelle throws her arm around him and pulls him as close as she possibly can. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and just holds him as he cries. She mutters soothing nothings in his ears.

Eventually, she pulls away and grabs his face.

“No one is expecting you to just be fine, Peter. You’re still so young, you’ve been through so much. It’s okay to… struggle.”

He chuckles through his tears; MJ looks at him with such worry and compassion and all he could do is laugh. She raises an eyebrow, as a way of silently asking what the fuck is wrong with him and it makes him laugh harder.

“Care to share with the class, chuckles?”

“It’s just, I thought ‘he’s been through so much’ is such a, and I quote, ‘white guy who doesn’t want to take responsibility for his actions’ excuse.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “It is, but that doesn't mean it can't apply to _some_ situations.”

“Geez, thanks, MJ.”

She pushes him, hard, and the surprise causes him to grab her shoulder to keep from falling off the bed.

“You’re so annoying, the most annoying, I can't deal, ugh you're such a loser, please leave.”

He holds on as she pushes him away, laughing. She doesn’t really stand a chance against him, so instead they end up closer and closer and it feels very them, and they haven’t been them in a really long time. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“For what?”

“You want a list?”

“Kinda.”

“I’m sorry for shutting you out. I’m sorry for not telling the truth. I'm sorry I take you for granted,” he mutters, “you've been there for me, through this, since high school, since that day in DC, since before I even knew it, you were there, and you've seen it all and you stayed, when I couldn't handle it, when I can't and I’m—I want to be better. You already make me better and I try and be what you deserve but—”

“It’s okay, loser, I get it.”

He smiles.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It's quiet. He feels as if he might fall asleep when she breaks it. 

“Hey, Peter,”

He hums.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You want a list?”

“Kinda.”

He can practically hear her rolling her eyes. He wants to turn around and look at her, read her face, but he's scared to. 

“I shouldn’t have said all that about you hurting us, just by being Spider-Man.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Still. I'm sorry." 

"Thanks, but I want you to know that I’d give it up. For you. For May. For Ned. Just say the word.”

This time he does turn around, only to be met by another smile. A smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She doesn’t believe him and, Peter hates to admit, but maybe she’s right not to.

“You're... the greatest person I know. You get these power, just a teenager and you… just go out there. So willing, so ready to help others. I'd like to think if it happened to me I'd use my powers to help people like you do.”

“There's no doubt in my mind.”

“Will you just...," she chuckles, “please let me apologize?”

“Right, continue.”

“I know that your suit is part of you in a way I will never understand. That’s okay. And I support your need to use these powers for good. I love it, I love Spider-Man. I just need you to let me know what goes on in your head. You need to let me, or anyone, in, or it’ll kill you. Please, let me help...”

She trails off.

“I don't wanna lose you. Not to some idiot with a gun but especially not to Spider-Man.”

Peter is tired and emotional and so in love with Michelle Jones. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just lays there and stares at her.

“Oh god,” she mutters, her voice thick with emotion, “you’re crying again.”

“I just love you so much.”

“I love you too, you dork.”

"Can I kiss you?" He feels stupid for asking but he doesn't want to crowd her, he doesn't want to mess this up. She looks just about ready to cry but also ready to punch him in the face. Instead, she kisses him. It is slow and patient and caring and he wants to stay in this kiss forever. They part and she rests her forehead against his.

“Can we sleep now?”

He nods.

“Turn around."

Peter raises his eyebrows.

“I wanna cuddle you."

“You wanna cuddle me?”

“Yeah! Big spoon!”

“Big spoon?”

“Geez, Parker, just... let me take care of you.”

The gnawing, the panic, is gone, for now, and he feels at peace at this moment. It won’t last, probably, but that’s okay, because here MJ is, insisting on being the big spoon. For the first time, in a long time, he falls asleep without a worry holding him down. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have like three other MJ/Peter fics that I'm working on because I could only see both Endgame and FFH once and I need to somehow, you know, process it. So, a possible series is in the works woo. 
> 
> Comment, kudos and all that always makes my heart soar.


End file.
